Afraid
by Magical words from Muggle pens
Summary: Lily has rejected James so many times. What exactly is she so afraid of? ... One shot: JP/LE


**Afraid**

_"Everytime we choose safety, we reinforce fear"_

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This is ridiculous - mad, crazy, messed up in every way imaginable.

James Potter has asked her out _238 bloody times_ since their third year, pursuing her in the most outlandish ways -- floods of love letters, lilies charmed to follow her, a choir of house elves, and even having the Giant Squid sprout pink hearts with her name inscribed in them.

It is all so juvenile - so characteristic of the Marauders. And she is thoroughly _unamused_. She is fed up with the distractions and pranks, but he still tries even harder to irk her time after time.

_"Lily, will you-"_

_"Potter, shut up," she snaps and turns on her heel. _

It is hard to miss the look of forlorn longing pass his eyes, his frozen stance - as though her words have truly ripped him into irreparably miserable shreds. Her friends shake their heads at her, as though _he_ is the affronted party.

But he is not - for there he is again, the next day, pestering her to no end.

And she tells herself that the wistful sigh lingering after another rejection is just part of the grand act.

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It baffles her mind that he is so fixated on her. There are hundreds of other girls in the school. Surely he cannot miss the whispered _oohs_ and breathy sighs as he ruffles the dark messy locks and dives into an effortless mid-air somersault.

With every romantic gesture he presents to her, he does not notice that every girl, save for herself, is blinking back tears of pure awe.

But it is, she decides, simply the cool unaffected attitude that James and Sirius have perfected over the years. The pure arrogance with which they seduce every girl, and simultaneously pretend to have done it without effort, is disgusting.

_"His kisses are heavenly," a Ravenclaw sighed. _

_"You're so lucky - I hear he only goes out with few girls," her friend said. _

That's what they all think. They're all so eager for a chance to be with him that they delude themselves into believing his lies. But she is not like that. It takes far more than a few charming words and cleverly concocted schemes to sway her.

For that's all he really is - a smokescreen of illusions and fantasies, a wonderful design to inflate a desperate ego.

And she does not care that the only one he has ever truly made an effort for ... is _her_.

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There is only one preoccupation an adolescent male has, and she knows that James Potter has developed the same affliction. It is to satiate their bodies as much and as often as possible. And it is her misfortune to be placed in close proximity with him.

She does not know how he secured the Head Boy position, but it torments her every day that he did. At all turns, he is there, ready with a word, a game or a _look_. And every centimeter of her skin crawls with an acute awareness of his watchful eye.

She can handle the blatant leering, the suggestive comments, but not the blazing trail of intense perusal he leaves on her body. Not when he seems to do it without meaning to - when it's done without calculation.

_"Excuse me," she mutters, sweeping past him toward her room. _

_Her flight is deterred, and she is hauled unceremoniously against him. His hand curves around her waist, his lips buried in her hair._

_"Lily -" _

_His guttural voice is caught with emotion, and he breathes raggedly against her, hot air prickling every hair on her body. His forearms are strong and unyielding. Her body instinctively arches up, seeking his, desperate to alleviate some of this ache in her bones_.

_But as they meld together, she shifts and throws him off her, slicing her wand through the air. _

_"Don't touch me," she warns._

Weeks after weeks, a slew of girls slink in and out of his room, ready to fill the void that she would not. She is relieved, to be sure, that her solitude is no longer infringed upon. After all, his needs are nothing compared to her standards.

She would never be the scratch to an itch. So it is for the best that he finds his amusement elsewhere.

And she does not see, that the dismal expression of crushed hopes and unfulfilled desire always worn upon his face -- is shared by every one of these girls.

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He has become a ghost - walking without seeing, mumbling yet not speaking, breathing but not living.

So much is different from what it used to be. There are no tricks or taunts, no games to be played. And this disconcerts her to no end. Because she is used to structure, to predictability. And James Potter has always been predictably unpredictable.

His friends notice, as do hers, and it roils her in the deepest pits the way they look at her.

Yet what unnerves her most is what has _not_ changed, not once in all the 238 attempts.

It is the way his friends' chatter no longer seems to amuse him, yet his gaze still focuses only on her. The way classes have become a place of true learning, yet his hand still _accidentally_ grazes hers.

The way he still asks her to be his, yet the heartbreaking sincerity painted across those melancholy eyes is so different from all attempts that preceded this.

And so she _runs_ ... leaving him to another refusal, another rejection.

The stairs blur past her as she sprints far away, so fast that the tears tracking down her cheek fly off into the air.

_Why..Why ....?_

She cries out in the silence, because she cannot understand why she loves him - why her heart has relentlessly captured him into its depths. His image, his forgotten laughter, his essence all exists inside of her. And she has denied for so long that it has become so easy to believe in the hatred she projects.

All because she is _afraid_.

The fear gripping at her bones is so painfully dark that she struggles to breath with every sob. For, in the deepest recesses of her mind, she knows that it is a _game_ to him. An amusing challenge, to get the one girl who did not care for him. To satisfy his curiosity and slake his lust ... so he can move on to the next great adventure.

Nothing is more thrilling than the chase.

And she'll keep running if it means he'll always be there, always wanting her, always needing her.

It is no matter that his despair mirrors hers so exactly. That the emotions swimming with the tears in his eyes tell her such sweet tales. But the fear grips her all over again, and she knows that it is nothing more than a trick of her lovesick mind.

So she keeps running _...._

_Constant vigilance_

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**A/N**: a new pairing for me! How exciting. Hope you liked my attempt to psychoanalyze Lily ;)

If you did ......... Review!


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